Future Imperfect
by SassyJ
Summary: AU. The future. Chief Inspector Rachel Weston returns to Sun Hill. Secrets and lies beset her at every turn, as Rachel tries to deal with an invisible foe and the traumatic events in the past which are a key to the future.
1. Chapter 1

DS Jo Masters pulled into the last available parking space, noticing with some asperity that some idiot had managed to park really badly, effectively occupying two spaces. _Someone puts a scratch on the Alfa...._ She scowled; the Alfa was a precious gift. Even a tiny scratch on its gleaming silver paintwork was an affront to the memory of her friend. She put her hand on the door handle, ready to go to work, but something stayed her hand. She pulled down the sun visor; his face stared back at her from the last picture she had taken of him before_…_. "Sorry, Stu." She gently patted his cheek with her index finger. "I try to take good care of your car. It's just the other idiots." She smiled sadly for just a moment. He had been gone almost a year. Killed in the line of duty one night in October 2009.

Of course Jo had been devastated at his death, but then stunned at the reading of his will. Stuart Turner had been rather fond of playing the stock market, and (surprisingly) exceptionally good with his money. His death-in-service benefit had cleared his outstanding mortgage, and apart from a couple of bequests to his sister and his nieces, and something to Stevie Moss (with an exhortation that she use it wisely, which caused Stevie to roll her eyes), all Stuart's worldly goods, chattels and anything else had been left to Miss Joanne Louise Masters. It was a substantial sum, and Jo had pondered quite a long time about what she should do about it.

She paused. Reminiscing wouldn't do, especially not today. Chief Inspector Rachel Weston was due in. Superintendent John Heaton was gone, with Superintendent Jack Meadows replacing him, but he was away on business at the Yard. So DI Manson and Inspector Smith had it all their own way.

Jo walked past the plaque, same as she did every day, her gaze half-averted. But still she noticed. And it still hurt. They had done it again. The plaque commemorating Stuart's life had been defaced. This was the fourth time in as many months. The last time Jo had gone raging to Smithy, and she'd been told it was kids. They both knew it wasn't; they both knew exactly who it was. Knowing didn't calm her rage at all. But she also knew that very little could be done about it.

To follow him into the depths beyond Canley Market, into that small area where the Sun Hill bomber had brought grief and desolation almost two years before, would be a mistake. Soon after the explosion, the contractors had moved in, the place had been boarded over and forgotten by some.

But the aftermath would never be forgotten by the few caught up in the events of that day. The place oozed a certain menace now. Even property developers seemed reluctant to go there, though a few had tried. One was found floating face down in the Thames, his throat ripped out. Two had never been seen again.

There had been investigations, but no conclusions. Deep down inside the investigators knew. Knew what everyone was thinking. Stone's private army were untouchable.

~*~*~*~*~

Rachel Weston smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her shirt, and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her first shift back in harness since her maternity leave. Heaton's vote of confidence in her, and her subsequent confirmation as Chief Inspector by Meadows, left a lot to live up to.

She looked round the office that was now hers: tidy, immaculate. Exactly as an office should be. All confidential documents neatly filed away in the locked filing cabinets along the back wall. _Everything in its place_. She took one last look in the mirror before she headed to the stairs. To her first briefing as Chief Inspector.

~*~*~*~*~

Dale Smith reviewed the file again. What he thought he was going to find, he couldn't have said. The events of that night almost a year ago were permanently etched on his memory. The events might have been permanently engraved, but details were as hazy and inexplicable as ever. All Smithy could say for certain was that by the time the night was over, DS Stuart Turner lay dead and Sergeant Callum Stone had disappeared.

~*~*~*~*~

_Pain..._ _and secrets._ Rachel Weston hung her uniform in the small wardrobe provided, and picked up her jacket. There was something not right about the place now. It wasn't the station she had left fifteen months before.

She pondered the difficulties of healing she faced. Her talk with Supt. Meadows had been quite clear. The way Jack Meadows saw it, her role was to create a cohesive unit, and to have them come to terms with what had happened. Neil and Rachel were to heal the rift between CID and Uniform. Even new recruits felt it.

Meanwhile, Jack Meadows pondered a strategy to deal with their problem. The warehouse behind Canley Market.

What had not been clear at the time of the bomb was that the Old Warehouse might have been given a makeover on the surface, but that underneath lay a basement and sub-basement which dwarfed the above surface structure. It was in this network of tunnels, and open spaces, that the danger lurked. Meadows had a plan.

~*~*~*~*~

Kicking off her boots, she dropped her jacket and bag on the sofa. She noted that the door to the balcony was open, and smiled to herself. "A drink." She headed to the kitchen and picked out a bottle of red.

Jo placed the glasses on the table and poured generously. She raised her glass to her reflection in the mirror. She sipped a little, and replaced the glass on the table.

"One night you will be seen," she said. He was close behind her. She looked in the mirror again at her own reflection. "And then, what will you do?"

His breath was on her neck. She stood her ground as his hand reached past her for the second glass.

"Cross that bridge when I come to it," he replied. "I've come too far to be worried about that."

She turned to face him, taking in every detail as she did every night. As she had done since the night he first came to her. She stepped forward and put her hand up to his cheek and looked into his eyes: once warm, glittering shades of amber, now dark as night.

He was of the darkness, she knew that; but knew too that he would never hurt her. He would protect her the way he had done that night she had seen him for the first time, and realised what she had known for weeks.

He was not gone forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Stevie Moss crouched down and peered under the tarpaulin. She didn't like being out alone at night, especially so close to the old factory.

Things had changed. The night of Callum Stone's disappearance and Stuart Turner's death had changed everything. The station she had joined had broken in two, and nothing seemed capable of putting it back together.

Stevie finished her sweep of the area. The information was wrong. Well, she'd expected that, staying loose and aware of her surroundings she hadn't detected any major threat which was confusing her. Something wasn't right.

She had the strangest feeling of being watched. For some reason, Stuart was in her head. She smiled sadly, remembering the night he had died. She had come back from an interview with Jo when the call had come in, and Stevie had wearily dragged herself to her feet, and reached for her jacket.

"Don't worry ladies, I've got this one." That patent megawatt, smug, Stuart Turner grin. She could still see his smile. She drowned the agonising memory of the next time she had seen him. The image of his cold, dead body, sightless brown eyes staring at nothing, the physical pain she had felt at his death.

A moment in time. And it had passed, Stevie had let it pass. And then he was dead and it would never come again.

It hurt, that lost moment. Even now. She had a lovely flirtation, a casual relationship, but a tiny corner of her heart had a place for Stuart.

A noise off to her left and she spun round, biting back the shriek of fright as she took in the tabby cat foraging amongst the waste. "Damn," she said out loud, feeling slightly foolish. Nothing to find, another wild goose chase. She stuffed her hand in her pocket feeling her car keys, and turned to walk away.

* * *

He watched her intently. His senses, the ones he had acquired when he'd _turned_ were tuned in to the world around him. Protecting her, keeping her safe from those who wished her harm, that was his sole object.

_Soul_. Now that was a funny word. His soul was supposed to have been ripped from him the night he died. Leaving a soul-less killing machine in its wake. According to legend at any rate.

Legend was wrong. His soul was magnified. His hunger, his appetites all enhanced, everything bigger, stronger, better, faster than before. A month after he was 'born' he had been close enough to Jo to smell the blood coursing through her veins. He had scented the air, drawing the taste over his tongue, close enough to feel her heartbeat, the rhythm sending his hunger and need into hyperdrive, but his soul dragged him away. He could never kill Jo.

He had run then. Away, far away, and over the other side of town he had found his kill. A drug dealer who had taunted them, in the days when he was a police officer. As DS he could do nothing, as the thing that he had become...

His fangs had buried themselves in the man's carotid artery before his meal had a chance to cry out. The man was larger and heavier than his physical form, but the dark that lined his soul more than a match. He fed on blood and power that night.

He watched Stevie reach her car, get in and drive away. She was safe for now. He stood up and stretched, it was late, he had to feed and return to the safety of his sanctuary.

He turned and stepped off the roof, landing sixty feet below lightly and neatly, like a cat. His ankle length black duster, swished around his legs, his black clothing as much camouflage as an odd fashion statement. The creature that had been Stuart Turner laughed at himself for a moment, the vagaries of his human life were gone, fashion was part of that life, his clothes now were part of his death. Funny how being dead had made him feel more alive than ever.


End file.
